


Popcorn and a movie (Just not that one)

by okeydokey (LilMissNerdfighter)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Hamish doesn't know what to do with them, I like Finding Nemo, John is a little bit intimidating, Just for the record, M/M, Sherlock has no respect for Nemo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 08:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilMissNerdfighter/pseuds/okeydokey





	Popcorn and a movie (Just not that one)

‘The first instruction says to assemble the cleaned pieces…‘ Sherlock told his son, disapprovingly reading the leaflet which accompanied the popcorn machine. They were having a ‘film night’-John had read a parenting magazine that it was important to promote ‘family bonding’. Sherlock wasn’t convinced. Never mind, if it kept John from noticing the new body parts in the fridge, then it couldn’t be completely bad.

‘Which we’ve done!’ pointed out Hamish, from beside the machine. Sherlock was keeping his distance, preferring to direct from his chair, rather than actually be involved in the process. Besides, Hamish was the better cook by far; it was possibly safer to let him do the work.

‘So, now we put the corn in-‘

‘How much does it say?’ Hamish asked, looking away from the falling kernels, to watch Sherlock. Watching his father try to follow instructions was always hilarious. Besides, as long as one of them was watching the corn, nothing could go horribly wrong.

‘Keep pouring- Stop!’ Sherlock leapt to his feet, yelling at the top of his voice.

‘It’s all over the floor now!’ exclaimed Hamish, waving the bag in the air. More corn escaped from the bag, clattering to the floor. Sherlock glared at it, as if it had personally offended him.

‘And whose fault is that?’ muttered his father, exasperated.

‘Yours. You were supposed to tell me to stop.’ Hamish retorted, trying to sweep the corn into a neater pile with his foot.

‘Kick it under the cupboard, John will never notice.’ Sherlock told him. John would be home soon and he didn’t want to have to tell his husband that he couldn’t even cook popcorn- with help.

‘Does that look alright? Hamish asked anxiously, chasing stray pieces.

‘Almost - quickly, before your dad sees!’ Sherlock hissed, joining his son in kicking the kernels under the cabinet.

As if on cue, the door swung open, revealing the army doctor. His arms were filled with bags containing films and various other bits of shopping. He slid them under the table, before turning to face his family. Sherlock and Hamish both tensed slightly, identical guilty expressions flickering across their faces before being masked with small smiles (one more convincing than the other).

‘Before I see what?’ John asked suspiciously, folding his arms across his chest. Hamish and Sherlock maintained eye contact with him, refusing to crack. John stared back at them, his foot tapped slightly. Anything seriously wrong would’ve been obvious by now, so it was just a case of getting them to admit to whoever had broken something. Honestly, the waiting was always the worst part; all that would follow would be clearing up the mess they had made. It was the principle though, he had been told repeatedly. John often wondered why Holmeses were so stubborn. If Sherlock could’ve read John’s thoughts, he would’ve insisted that John was plenty stubborn too, and that their combined stubbornness had caused Hamish to be the way he was. Even at the age of twelve, Hamish was becoming more determined than both his parents.

Despite this, it still surprised John when Sherlock was the first to crack.

‘Popcorn explosion.’ Sherlock mumbled, scowling at the offending bag. John shook his head, trying to hide his grin.

‘Make sure you clean it up,’ he tutted. Hamish gave him a mock salute and handed the dustpan and brush to his father. Sherlock scowled, before sweeping the offending kernels up in one fluid motion. John just smirked from his chair, as he watched Hamish prepare the remaining corn as his husband sulked. He always found it hilariously funny how Sherlock managed to complete even the simplest of tasks grumpily.

**

An hour later (after three batches of mildly burnt popcorn and small fire) the Watson-Holmeses settled down to watch a film. Or they would’ve been if they had decided which film to watch.

‘No. Absolutely not. We are not watching a film about a lost _fish_.’ Sherlock growled, scowling at the film in John’s left hand.

‘But it’s brilliant!’ insisted Hamish, grabbing the box and waving it in his father’s face.

‘I don’t care. Fish cannot talk, and the entire plot line is completely unrealistic!’ Sherlock leant forward and snatched the offending title. Hamish laughed quietly, wondering what his father was going to do with the film, now he had it in his clutches. Sherlock’s thought process was almost readable on his face, how to dispose of the stupid fish. Burn it? Snap it in two? Shoot it? In the end though, he settled on throwing it out of the window, narrowly missing Mrs Hudson’s bins below.

‘Sherlock!’ John yelled, seeing the box fly through the air. Hamish watched it with wide eyes, wondering how he was still surprised by this father even after all this time. ‘You can’t just-that’s not-apologise to Hamish now!’ He spluttered, moving to the window to see the broken box on the concrete.

‘Why? It’s not as though he was using it anyway.’ Sherlock protested. ‘It’s a bad film anyway.’

‘That’s not the point.’ John sighed, sending an apologetic shrug in his son’s direction. Hamish waved it away, he was used to it. Besides, he could just borrow a copy off Arthur if he really needed to.

‘Is this one of those _things_ again?’ Sherlock asked, looking intrigued now.

‘Yes, Sherlock, it is. Now, apologise.’

‘But John!’

‘Sherlock.’

‘Sorry for throwing your rubbish fish DVD out of the window, Hamish. Although I think I’m doing you a favour-‘  He trailed off, once again on the receiving end of one of John’s disapproving glares.  Hamish smirked, rolling his eyes at his father.

‘Apology accepted. It’s fine, Dad. Seriously- I’ve seen it before- Arthur’s obsessed with the bloody thing!’

‘Language.’ John warned, doing his best impression of a responsible parent he had seen in a YouTube video.

‘Whatever. Can we just watch a film now, please?’ Hamish asked, throwing a piece of popcorn at Sherlock.

‘Harry Potter?’ John suggested, returning to the option they defaulted to almost every time they settled down to watch a film (which wasn’t very often).

‘Okay,’ agreed Sherlock, moving over in his chair to allow John to come and sit next to him. Despite the fact that John had his own chair not two metres away, they always ended up like this, squashed in Sherlock’s chair, with Hamish sitting cross legged on the floor in front of them. Sherlock had given up trying to work out why this felt so natural long ago. Now, he mostly accepted it, and let John spill popcorn over his knees.

**

By the time Harry Potter had finished it had been dark outside for hours. Sherlock had stopped paying attention hours before, in favour of watching Hamish try to catch popcorn with his mouth. He was steadily improving. Maybe one day, in the months to come, Mrs Hudson would stop finding stray pieces in odd places, when she was not being their housekeeper. John engrossed in the film until the end, mouthing along the characters’ lines as they spoke.

It was at least the third time they had watched this particular Harry Potter in the past six months, and it was getting to the point where Sherlock could’ve recited the script backwards. He was beginning to suspect that Hamish was getting to that point too.  And yet Hamish still jumped when he was supposed to, the anticipation worse than the reality.

Sherlock wondered if that was how real life worked too, sometimes. He dreaded film night every day leading up to it (two hours watching people pretend to be someone else? Give him Anderson any day), but when he was making the obligatory popcorn or actually in front of the screen, it wasn’t so bad.

Bloody hell, Mycroft was right; the Watsons really had changed him beyond recognition.


End file.
